


Dead Sexy

by BewareTheIdes15



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7319581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is a God somewhere up there, and most days Cass is pretty sure there aint, but if there is, he has to figure the fucker sent Jesse Custer down personally to torment him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Sexy

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I wrote a thing! Its been approximately 12 billion years and I don't know how I feel about it, but I TRIED. 
> 
> Also, I am from Texas yet decided to write this from the POV of the Irish character, because I make stellar life choices. Sorry if I bastardized the way you talk, UK folks! 
> 
> Spoilery further tag explanation (because I wasn't sure how to tag): this fic includes Jesse using his power to make Cass do sexy things in a manner which was not previously negotiated. Cassidy is very on board, but no verbal consent is asked for or given. Take care of yourself and avoid things that could be triggery for you!

If there is a God somewhere up there, and most days Cass is pretty sure there aint, but if there is, he has to figure the fucker sent Jesse Custer down personally to torment him. 

The thing about being a vampire is that everybody romanticizes it. Movies, and TV, and the bloody books play it out with all of this dark brooding creature of the night shite, or else it’s full Clockwork Orange. Which, don't get him wrong, was a fine enough film and all, but he's hardly aspiring to mold his life, afterlife, whatever the fuck, after it. Sure, killing’s part of the gig sometimes, bloodsucker and all, but he doesn't generally go in for the torture bit. It's creepy, and time consuming, and mostly the kind of people Cassidy’s feeding on aren't the sort he wanted to spend a leisurely evening with. 

That’s the sort of thing he prefers to save for the likes of Jesse, and... well, really just Jesse. Being a vampire’s rough on the old social circle. 

Anyways, a dozen or so generations of fiction writers have gotten the whole mess twisted up until people don't know up or down about vampires. Holy water? It's just water. The cross? Cassidy’s got no more trouble meeting Jesus' eyes than any other properly-raised lapsed Catholic. And blood? It fucking tastes like blood. After a few years you develop a certain taste, can tell the good stuff from the garbage, but that's no different than wine, or whiskey, or a decently cut heroin. It don't suddenly taste like magic,or heaven, or bloody sex like some folks made out. 

Except Jesse Custer. 

Jesse Fucking Custer. 

“Jesus,” drips off his tongue with a syrupy drop of blood that catches on his chest and slinks down in a long crimson stain. Really should have stripped down first, he is going to hit dire straits on the clothing front here soon. “Holy bleeding fuck. You’re like special k and molly had a baby, aren’t ya?”

Wiry muscle shifts, kiss soft, against his lips as Jesse’s forearm flexes against his grip. Doesn’t try and pull away, though. Or does, maybe, who the can tell at this point. Sure as hell not Cassidy. At this point he’s feeling pretty stoked about remaining in the upright and locked position.

His gums tingle in all of the spots Jesse’s blood has pooled, a silky, electric tickle all up the the soft insides of his cheeks. Like taking a bite out of a lighting bolt and then swallowing, letting it ping and crackle all around his guts like those globes they have at kid’s science museums that make your hair stand on end. He didn’t even know he could get this high, and not for lack of trying.

“You alright there?” Jesse asks, because Jesse is absolute shite at reading signals. Certainly explains his whole situation with Emily. Cassidy figures the wet, red kiss he smears over the sluggishly bleeding cut is good enough for an answer.

Must not be, though, because Jesse only lets it sit for a minute before adding, “So it is different.” And then, “There’s something different in me.”

“I’ll fucking be in you.” The slick friction of skin on skin buzzes through his lips, creeps up to nestle behind his eyebrows and then just sort of melts like butter in a hot pan. Fuck. “Said that bit out loud, didn’t I?”

Jesse sighs like the only sober man at the party. “Uh, yep.”

Cassidy allows himself one more long, thorough lick up the length of the cut. Its shallow, maybe two inches long. Clotting already, and more’s the shame, he thinks, as that bright, crisp taste smudges all the way back on his tongue, nestled up sweet against his tonsils like a hive of pet bees.

“High-test’s what that is,” he says, finally pulling back far enough to put more than a thin breath between his mouth and Jesse’s skin. If licking his lips is probably the wrong side of unsettling, then he’s not sure what running a finger around the outside of them to catch any spillover might be. Then again, waste’s a sin, isn’t it?

“You start renting that out,” he slurs, pulling his sucked-clean finger free with a pop, “could build yourself a whole new church, Padre.”

In the meantime Jesse’s reclaimed all of his associated parts, clapping a hand over the split skin and holding it up vertical. It’s almost enough to cover the shape of Cassidy’s mouth stained red on the pale underside of his forearm just above the sloppy black roll of his sleeve. The pocket knife open is still open in the other hand, bloodied edge shining in the blue-toned shadows of moonlight through the stained glass.

“Assuming I meet a vampire with some actual money.” Jesse sinks down onto the nearest pew like he was poured there. He’s got a smirk fastened on, but a lot like that collar, it looks liable to choke him.

“Oi!” Cassidy slips in next to him, parking his ass on the back of the next pew up, feet on the seat beside Jesse. Can’t help but wriggle a little bit for the stealth adjustment when it traps his dick at an awkward angle up against his zipper.  “The value of my companionship cannot be measured in cold, unfeeling cash.”

An unhappy puff of air huffs out of Jesse’s nose. “Apparently mine can.”

Alright, this melancholy shite’s getting old.

“Fuck yeah. A fucking load of it.” He kicks lightly at Jesse’s knee, watching it knock loosely against its twin. Like a reflex, Jesse jostles back harder, letting go of his arm to shove at Cassidy’s foot, leaving a glossy sheen across the laces of his boot. Licking that off later is going to be a low point. Still the spark of life is back in Jesse’s eyes and Cassidy’ll burn the bloody house down with it if that’s what it takes. Give the man a goddamn superpower and he turns into Bruce bloody Wayne. Be springing for some gargoyles for the roof next, just watch. “And that’s just the veins, you start throwing around the rest of the package…”

One of those scruffy little eyebrows wings up. “Package.”

Seeing as all the cool kids are doing it, Cassidy works his eyebrows up too, gives them a little wag for the folks in the cheap seats. “Eh, ehhhhh.” The tip of his boot nudges up against Jesse’s thigh.

“Get you a room down at the Toadvine,” he teases, warming to the subject. “Put out an ad on, wha’d’ya figure, Craigslist? Hold back on the price until they show up. Trust me, between the preacher bit, and the face, and then that,” he points out the fine thread of blood oozing from the mostly closed wound on Jesse’s arm.

It’s not hard to imagine, not with the burnt sugar sizzle of Jesse’s blood still lingering on his molars; he hasn’t met a lot of other vampires, all in all, but like every other underground movement and black market in history, things get around. Something like Jesse, man of god with blood like a drug and the body of an underwear model, they’d have bloodsuckers lined up around the block, a long string of black umbrellas all day long and then at night… Jesse spread out on sweat-soaked sheets, that sweet gold skin all covered in teeth marks and smeared blood and tacky drying come. Worn out, and pliant, probably oversensitive. Probably make shaky, wounded noises under a touch, a tongue up the underside of his soft dick, squirming, not sure if it hurts more than it feels good and still going with it anyway. Cassidy’s seen the fucker throw down; no way Jesse can’t go for hours, put up a proper fight even with a set of teeth in his neck and a cock in his ass.

These are the sorts of things Cassidy’s fairly sure you’re not supposed to think about your friends. Course, he’s never been a very good friend anyway. 

“So, ‘re we pretending that’s not happening?” Jesse says like a razor blade right through Cassidy’s train of thought. His eyes flit down to Cassidy’s lap, which is really about as subtle as the bulge at the front of Cass’ jeans, all things considered.

“That? Nah, hallucination.”

Fuck but he could go for some whiskey right about now. Or some of the shite from the air conditioner. Or a long, hard suck at the inside of Jesse’s thigh where the blood rushes right up close to the skin and everything smells like the dirties bits of a good, hard fuck. 

“Sure,” Jesse nods, flipping the pocket knife closed. It’s all fucked to hell that Cassidy’s wondering if he wiped it off first and, if so, was it on something that he could clean up with his tongue, but there you go. “Mine or yours?”

“Yes.”

Jesse sucks in a slow breath, slumping against the pew like the air in his lungs is weighing him down. The slouch makes his legs spread wide, encouragement Cassidy really didn’t need to imagine how he’d fit between them. 

Cass doesn’t have much in the way of circulation anymore, but there’s a steamy sort of heat crawling up his spine, clogging his throat, that he can’t for the life of him decide is want, or fear, or the thorny second wave of that gorgeous, brutal high. 

“And if I  _ commanded _ you to tell the truth?” Jesse asks, rolling the words around on his tongue like a finer class of whiskey than they’ve ever split between them. 

“ _ I  _ always tell the truth, not my fault if you can’t be bothered to believe in me honest nature.” If he’s occasionally selective about which truths he tells, well that’s just a matter of betting smart. Jesse may be a different breed of holy man, but it doesn’t take a math genius to add up small town Texas and moral fixation and Tulip (no way Jesse hasn’t vacationed between those thighs, Cass has seen those looks) and work out that whatever Jesse’s opinion on two blokes doing the do he’s not likely to appreciate a come-on from his less-than-living best mate. “‘Sides, you never watched Spider-Man? Great power, great responsibility, Padre.”

“ **Show me.** ”

It hits like a bloody freight train, the actual words washed out by the overdose-rush of power. Not for the first time, he wonders if this is what people mean when they say they’ve found religion. Makes a good bit of sense it’d be from Jesse Custer’s mouth. 

Without a specific command the words flush through Cass’s system in the first direction his mind heads. No real surprise that’s straight to his dick. His fingers feel clumsy, out of his control, but they work easy as anything, popping the button on his jeans and sliding down the zipper, peeling the fly open. This would be one of those rare moments he regrets not wearing boxers. 

Room temperature’s about as good as it get for Cassidy’s body heat most times. In this swelter, it’s not so bad, though he spent one memorable January in Moscow that was a bad bloody plan. So the air hitting his skin, the wet spot at the tip of his hard cock, isn’t much of a shock. His breath stutters anyway; a hiss of dirty, electric energy along his nerves in the flick of Jesse’s eyes down the line of him like cattle sized up for the slaughter. Jesse could do it, wouldn’t even have to work at it. Could command Cassidy to mosey on outside at high noon and there’s not one damned thing he could do to save himself.

There are worse things to die for, he supposes. 

“I’m no expert, here, but I’m suspecting this is some kind of sin.”

“‘S it the blood?” Jesse hasn’t moved, head cocked a little to the side, gaze skating down Cass’s body and back up, lingering over the jut of his dick in a not unflattering manner, to be honest. He’s got one arm hitched up on the back of the pew, the other hand resting on top of his thigh. The cut’s stopped bleeding, but it’s still exposed; nothing but a little pressure to split it right back open again, peach sweet. “The movies always make it out like some kind of sex thing.”

Cassidy runs his tongue across his teeth and tries not to stare like a starved mutt. “Sometimes. We really gonna talk about my dick? In church?”

Jesse smirks back. “As if that would be the worst thing you’ve done in this church.” 

“I’ll have you know I’m offended by that.”

There it is. The moment the stormcloud tension breaks. Jesse will laugh and say he’s offended by it too. Cassidy’ll remember how his hands work and tuck himself away and they’ll get good and plastered and pretend it never happened. If Cass spends the next ten years or so bringing himself off thinking about how else it could have gone, well he won’t be hurting anybody. 

“ **Sit** ,” thunderclaps out of Jesse’s mouth and Cassidy find his ass plunked down on the creaking pew before he can work out how it happened. 

For the most part, Cass likes that people think he’s shameless; he’s worked damn hard at making sure they do. Doesn’t make it true. Doesn’t mean there’s not a nugget of humiliation buried in his belly like a lit charcoal briquet as his hardon bobs ridiculously, smacks up against his belly as he flops down, leaving a wet punctuation mark on the worn cotton of his t-shirt. 

Jesse’s an inferno next to him. Heat like a bloody sun coming off him, and Cass can’t help but think about the crematorium, watching that poor sod burn, and this has to have been how he felt. 119 years and he’s going to crumble to ash because Jesse bleeding Custer fried him alive with his sheer raw heat.

Still, worse things to die for. 

“ **Stroke.** ”

Even if Cass had a thought of fighting it there wouldn’t be any point, and the truth is, with a sticky gloss of precome starting to leak down over him and the tight knot of lust making his balls ache, he really doesn’t want to do anything but wrap his hand tight around himself and have a go. 

There’s sweat on his palm, but not enough to make it comfortable at the pace his arm’s used to. The half-dry rasp makes him lick his lips. Think about spitting on himself, feeling the tacky drag go smooth; showing off the ugly, unclean ways he likes it, not even the tip of the iceberg to the way he debases himself on the regular. Except he wasn’t told to do that, and that’s… big, somehow. Vital. Doing this just how Jesse told him because that’s how Jesse wants it and fuck if that doesn’t turn the sandpaper ache into candy in his veins. 

Head tipped against the backrest of the pew, Cassidy pants, “You’re a right kinky bastard, you know that?” at the ceiling. Can’t tell for shite which one of them he means. 

Jesse’s still right there, fingers dangling one filthy thought away from brushing Cass’s cheek. He’s almost too distracted by the image of sucking on them to catch it when Jesse says, “So is it? Some kind of blood-sex thing?”

“I don’-” he starts, and that one callus that always sees him right catches just so and, “uh, bollocks.” 

“ **Slow down.** ”

“Oh you ruthless cunt,” peels straight up from his gut.  _ Now _ he’s fighting it and it counts for about as much as not because his hand still slows down to a glacial pace. The entire species of polar bears is dying out faster than he’s getting off. “You bloody cockteasing, yeah, alright?” he admits, head rolling against unforgiving wood, hips twisting and shimmying and not getting a single scrap more out of it. “Right situation, right person, it’s dead fucking sexy.”

That cracks a laugh out of Jesse, sarcastic and brilliant, haloed in velvet blue light like some kind of patron saint of all the sins Cassidy can’t resist. “And this is the right situation?”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t a kinky bastard, now did I?” There’s a whine in there he’s not proud of, but it mostly comes out all right, besides huffing like a drowning man. 

He’s leaking all over the place now, which makes the going a lot easier, only now there’s a sound to it, a sloppy wet noise that reminds him of sucking blood off the floorboards, makes him imagine sucking Jesse’s cock. Fuck yes. Jesse should let him do that. Jesse should  _ make _ him do that. Fuck in and make him take it until he had hot come stinging his raw gullet and Jesse was good and well done with him. There’s advantages to face-fucking a man who doesn’t need to breathe. 

“Would you pay for it?”

A yes almost sneaks out between his teeth before he remembers Jesse’s not talking about giving him a proper throat-dicking. Except now he’s not sure what the hell Jesse  _ is _ talking about. 

“Shite. Jesse, come the fuck on, this is just cruel and unusual.” At this point, whining is probably the lesser indignity, if there is such a thing. If he could just go a little faster… “‘Specially unusual.”

And speaking of, Jesse leaning in to put his mouth close to Cassidy’s ear is definitely an off-menu item. 

“If I had that room at the Toadvine,” Jesse’s strong hand grips at his arm hard enough that he has to work at it to keep stroking, tan fingers coasting over his ink, dipping at the thin skin at his elbow and up over his bicep. “and I started taking all comers-”

“Heh,” his voice sounds thready to his own ears, stretched thin enough to snap. “Comers.”

He feels delirious, worse than Jesse’s blood, or better, or compounded; the heat of Jesse’s fingertips tracing out his collarbone through his shirt, the wild, fleshy smell of a human body stuck in a bloody black suit in the middle of the desert all day, the low-down dirty grate of his voice against the shell of Cassidy’s ear. It’s so good and it’s not enough and it’s the most vicious thing that’s ever been done to him, bar none. 

“Would you be one of them?” Blunt nails dig in over his sternum at the same time that the very tip of Jesse’s tongue touches his earlobe, and the shock of honeyed pain is like a hand on his dick. Another hand on his dick. Almost-enough pleasure gnawing at the raw ends of his nerves. “Would you pay for a taste?”

“Think I deserve a friends and roommates discount, yeah? ‘S only charitable and all.”

Suddenly those fingers are clamped around his jaw, forcing him to turn and look straight into the midnight black of Jesse’s eyes. 

“ **Would you be one of them?** ”

“Fuck no,” rips out of him as a growl, words rubbed pebble-smooth in his tongue’s hurry to spill them out. “I’d be the  _ only _ one. I’d tear anybody else who tried to get at you a-fucking-part.”

He can feel his lips peeled back from a snarl, right in Jesse’s face, and oh shite, this is bad. The animal under his skin stripped bare, a damn sight more feral than he’s ever let Jesse see him before; than he ever lets anybody who’s going to get to walk away. Jesse stinks like fear from it, bile-bitter, grip hard enough on Cass’s face to bruise if that was the kind of thing Cass did. 

The air’s leaden with the weight of them both breathing into the same sliver of space, the sound of it the only thing for miles except for the messy, obscene noise of Cassidy still jacking himself arduously slow, just like he was bloody told. 

Then a smile Cassidy recognizes too damn well from the mirror comes slithering up the side of Jesse’s mouth, flat human teeth glinting. Fangs or no, the man’s a natural-born predator. No wonder Cass can’t resist him. 

“ **Come.** ”

His body’s not there, not ready, and it happens anyway; a crash like stepping out the front door and falling straight off a cliff. He screams, probably. No way to tell with how his brain’s turned into a howling vacuum between his ears, but it feels like he ought to have screamed. Feels like he ought to have died, but that’s another one of those things he never quite gets around to. 

Like now, for example, he’s much too busy sucking on Jesse’s tongue to worry about shuffling along off this here mortal coil. 

Oh, that’s lovely, actually. Soft mouth and hard muscle pressed all up against him. Hard other things too. Even better. 

Jesse’s like a guitar string tuned too tight under this hands, practically vibrating as Cassidy smears his neat black outfit with spunk. Doesn’t seem to mind though, at least not once Cass gets slippery fingers on the fly of Jesse’s trousers. Once he gets one hand down the front of them and starts jerking him off - much faster than he got to go on himself, thank you very much. Jesse grunts unintelligibly and bucks into his hand. Hard, slick teeth catch at his lips and of course he’s a biter, of course he is, the bloody perfect fucker. 

It takes all of a minute and a half, and if Cassidy hadn’t just danced like a pornographic puppet at Jesse’s bidding, he might say something about it. Then again, tough to complain about the molten blurt of Jesse’s come gobbing up the space between his fingers; the dark, broken noise Jesse spills into his mouth; the loose, liquid quality that Cass has never seen in him before, even black out drunk, when Jesse sags back against the pew, slowly melting sideways. 

“Fuck,” Jesse slurs , and then again, “fuck.” He’s half laying down by now, one boot slung up on the pew, legs spread like an invitation embossed by the tease of dark hair and glossy come showing through the spread front of his jeans. Clearly Jess and Emily have been going about this recruitment bit all wrong; slap that image on a billboard and people would be fighting to get in the door on Sunday. 

Seeing as he’s already a sight and all, there’s no reason for Cassidy not to reach over and wipe his sticky hand clean on the exposed strip of Jesse’s belly. Well, mostly clean. Alright, he’s not doing a damn thing besides spreading the cocktail of spunk around and maybe getting a bit of a grope in and there’s really no definition of “clean” that fits. Still looks real nice, though. 

A lazy protest rumbles in Jesse’s throat, little wrinkle of disgust scrunching up his nose, but he doesn’t move to do anything about it. 

“That got out of hand,” Jesse tells the rafters after a long quiet minute. 

“Dunno, I seem to recall having it pretty well in h-”

Jesse groans so loud Cass can’t even finish for laughing.

With an almighty heave, Jesse pulls himself upright, pretty face like a crumpled ball of paper as he picks at his stained clothes.

“I’m too old for this shit,” he mourns.

Cassidy shoots him a look. “ _ You’re _ too old.”

This close he smells like a literal wet dream; skin, and fresh sweat, and come, the lingering traces of cigarette smoke and blood like a speedball-bullet straight to the brain. Cassidy hasn’t got a sweet clue what he’s going to do if Jesse turns him away now. Something pathetic, probably, like start writing him sonnets, or becoming the bloody organist. Between him and Tulip and Emily, Jesse’s going to have a whole pack of lovestruck puppy dog eyes following him around. Then again, suppose that won’t be much of a change. 

“I need a shower,” Jesse says standing up. He doesn’t so much as look at Cass, preoccupied with fishing around in his pocket for the pack of cigarettes Cassidy nicked two hours ago. 

Being a generous sort, Cassidy pulls one out of the dented box for him and offers up the lighter. Instead of taking it though, Jesse just leans down, cig dangling from his lips a worse temptation than any snake or apple ever was, and lets Cass flick the lighter for him. 

Wavering orange light kisses his cheekbones and the dip above his top lip, turns his dark eyes to glinting drops of oil fixed right on Cassidy. Lost just as fast in a veil of smoke as Jesse breathes out, still not looking away. 

With nobody else here, it’d be easy for Jesse to walk the couple of extra feet to the end of the row and get out that way, but instead he pushes his way past the sprawl of Cassidy’s legs, their knees getting tangled up like fishing line. 

The front of Jesse’s pants is still undone and every little jostle shimmies them down another tantalizing fraction of an inch. 

Cassidy’s all of three seconds from just grabbing on and seeing how fast Jesse can get hard again with a mouth on his cock and then Jesse’s free. By the time Cass manages to pack down his disappointment Jesse’s already sauntered halfway down the aisle toward the back, a little line of smoke and Cassidy’s eyes trailing after. 

He’s already fiddling with the collar before he hits the door. Cass has a second to wonder why he even bothers with it when it’s just the two of them alone and then Jesse’s looking over his shoulder, saying, “Well, you made this mess. Gonna help me clean it up or ain't ya?”

If there was a clock in here, Cassidy would know exactly how many seconds tick over before that manages to sink into his overtaxed grey matter. As it is, it’s just the distant hum of the night bugs outside and the clunk of Jesse’s boots as he disappears down the hall. The footsteps switch over to a click, the lineoleum in the kitchen, and just like that every un-zapped synapse Cassidy’s got kicks into gear. He’s literally tripping over himself - he really ought to have done up his jeans - to catch up. 

The inky black shape of Jesse’s discarded shirt greets him across the threshold to the kitchen, a matching white smudge of his undershirt on the stairs. Upstairs, the taps squeal a protest, hot water pipe knocking irritably against the inside of the wall as the shower turns on. 

It may not have whatever mystical Jedi mindtrick business Jesse’s working, but the sound’s no less compelling. Cassidy strips his shirt over his head, loses it somewhere between there and the stairs, nearly topples right back down them trying to kick his way out of his jeans and boots all at once. 

At the end of the hall, a buttery yellow glow drools out of the open bathroom door. Somehow he doubts this is what they meant by seeing the light, but damned if it doesn’t feel like a religious experience anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I always forget to add this but [I'm on tumblr!](http://bewaretheides315.tumblr.com/)


End file.
